yep, god wants me to wear skirts. joe and i did our best to wrest new pants for me from union square, but we ended up with mediocre sushi and some clearance underwear. not so bad, but i hate being thwarted. and i'm tired: the boy scoffs at this, but jeans in particular are hard work. i would love to be able to purchase x-waisted and y-length stuff in whatever store, whichever brand, but ladies don't play like that - more like battleship, go with random coordinates and hope something happens. god help you if the clothes are too small and you get a sneaker stuck down a pant leg.

one would think i'd have learned something from all the h.p. lovecraft i've been reading. no, i sought knowledge where i did not belong, and a search for chicks on speed stuff yielded the boob monster. leave that link alone, or you'll be sorry.

next wave of friendmarriages is on the horizon - three before may so far. it is good to be single, goes the mantra, he must learn to love B movies before we set anything in stone. i should work on arizona and soul. to play with miniature guest tables, though, to fight with stationers, to dance and make people cry - i do all of that now, sure, but i hate being thwarted.

No, it is not just like being an animal so much as being like one of these malenky toys you viddy being sold in the streets, like little chellovecks made out of tin and with a spring inside and then a winding handle on the outside and you wind it up grrr grrr grrr and off it itties, like walking, O my brothers. But it itties in a straight line and bangs right into things bang bang and it cannot help what it is doing. Being young is like being one of those malenky machines.